Ehrfürchtig
by Vanilla Battenburg
Summary: Just a PruCan story which was meant to be a one-shot but stretched to two chapters...
1. Gilbert Beilschmidt

**Don't worry! I'm still continuing with Lily of the Valley. I just thought this up, and really wanted to write it...so...yeah! It's meant to be a one-shot, but I think it's a little too long for that, so I'll split it into two chapters. It's not going to be exactly historically accurate, so just take it for what it is. For any Germans, Austrians, Swiss, or other nationalities who speak German, I apologise for the bad translations. I don't speak German (considering my last sentence, this must be a bit of a shocker). I just want there to be an obvious language barrier between Prussia and Canada. So...sorry, but it's for literary purposes...**

Gilbert Beilschmidt

Rain slips off my nose and trickles into the collar of my already damp military tunic.

It then starts it's inevitable, depressing work on my shirt, making it stick to my skin. My neck is already drenched. Theoretically, the navy cap I wear on my head is supposed to stop this from happening. I reach up with cold, numb fingers and pull it, firmly, down on my pale hair.

The shouting is ringing in my ears.

His blue eyes flash mercilessly.

Oh brother. My little brother. What have you gotten us into?

Ludwig finishes up giving the men orders, and dismisses them, still standing strong, back straight, expression cold. Once they have disappeared further down the deep trench, and around the corner, he changes.

His body sags with tiredness.

His eyes look sad.

He trembles.

"...Ludwig ... Bist du bereit?" (...Ludwig...Are you ready?)

He pauses. Then, almost imperceptibly, shakes his head.

"...Ich wünschte, es aufhören würde ..." (...I wish it would stop...)

I relax my shoulders. For quite a while I had thought that he might allow his Führer to infect him with his ideas, to make him a cold-blooded killer, to make him unfeeling. That he can still say such childish things to his big brother is a relief. I straighten, then shuffle over to him in the tight space. I place one hand on his shoulder, and one on his chin, lifting it. I look him right in the eyes, like I did when we were younger, when I'd tell him something that I wanted him to take seriously. Things that seem trivial now, like which berries to eat and which would make you ill.

"Hey, Bruder. Ist es nicht dein fehler. Sie haben eine dumme, psychopathische Führer, und Sie haben, um Aufträge von ihm zu nehmen. Es ist, wie es geht. Wir werden durch sie zu erhalten. Ich meine schau mich an! Schau dir all die Scheiße ich in der Vergangenheit getan haben. Aber ich bin immer noch hier. Ich überlebte es. Sie auch. Selbst wenn dies falsch ist, haben Sie immer noch, um Ihr Land zu verteidigen. Dein Volk. Also werden wir es tun. Okay?

(Hey, brother. This is not your have a stupid, psychopathic Führer, and you have to take orders from him. It's how it goes. We'll get through it. I mean look at me! Look at all the shit I've done in the past. But I'm still here. I survived it. You will too. Even if this is wrong, you still have to defend your country. Your people. So we'll do it. Alright?)

His eyes have filled with tears. It's coming soon. He told his men ten minutes. Ten minutes and we're out there. In the open.

"...Okay. Mindestens Italien ist jetzt nicht hier. Wenigstens ist er sicher." (Okay. At least Italy isn't here right now. At least he's safe.)

As he says this, he gives a slight smile. Seeing the softness on my brothers face, I make a promise to myself to get Ludwig home to that pasta loving idiot if it kills me.

Which it probably will.

Now, side by side, we wait for the signal to go over the top. Ludwig is shaking, and making little gasping noises. Even after the first time, before the Treaty of Versailles and the Nazis, he is still unused to battles on such a huge scale. I guess you could call me a veteran. My hands barely tremble. There is only a slight sheen of sweat on my albino skin, caked slightly in mud from the rain pooling in the saturated earth.

Then, noise to our left. It's started. I turn to my brother and give a massive grin, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline and fear-filled delirium that comes before a fight. Ludwig looks equally hysterical.

"Auf drei?" (On three?) I ask. I can hear screams and shots already.

"Ja."

I go first.

"Eins."

"Z-zwei."

"Drei...los!"

And up we go. I finish pulling myself up on the slippery mud, then pitch forwards into chaos, screaming obscenities at the enemy. I am a different person now. I am no longer Gilbert Beilschmidt, a man, a friend, a brother. I am a void of heartlessness. I have to be. On the battlefield, it's the only way to survive. You see a man in front of you, if they're in enemy uniform, you shoot. No thoughts, no time for regrets, you move on. To the next. And the next. And the next. It's a harsh reality that country representatives have to learn. Actual human soldiers don't tend to be alive long enough to learn this state of mind, and those who do often live the rest of their lives with shattered souls, shell-shock and nightmares.

I focus on dodging bullets, and shooting them, and not dying. It's evening, and it's getting dark, and there's dust in the air, impeding my vision. I get shot in the arm, just above the wrist. It hurts, and blood seeps into my sleeve, but it's not worth paying attention to right now. Frankly, I was lucky. And having the advantage of being a country means that I'm a lot harder to kill.

Something fairly small, about the size of a football, flies through the air in my peripheral vision. There's a moment of nothing, and my brain dismisses it as insignificant. Then light, and flames, and

I'm thrown backwards by the force of the explosion. My ears ring, and I can only gear my brain up to think one word.

Bombs.

I can't move. I'm too tired. I've lost my cap.

Come to think of it, lying in the mud with the rain pattering on your face and your brain numb and peaceful is quite therapeutic really, if you can block out the wretched wails and cries for mother.

I need to get up.

I'll be killed like this.

I need to get up. Now.

I manage to get my elbows under me, to struggle up and flip myself over. I crawl forward, keeping low, and reach a small mound created by explosions moving the earth. I sit, staying out of the gunfire until I get my bearings. I'll give myself ten breaths, then I'll get back out there. Counting to go out onto the battlefield. Counting to rejoin it. Counting the number of dead afterwards. That's all battles are really. Just numbers.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six

Seve-

A soldier suddenly appears around the mound, spots me and raises his gun. A split second later a bomb hits the ground between the two of us. Our eyes meet wildly, horror-struck.

" Scheiß-"

And cue white light, then darkness.

* * *

><p>I wake, coughing. I'm lying curled up. I can't see. I can't really breathe.<p>

Ah. That's because there is dirt all over my face. And there's silence. I think I've gone deaf. I click my fingers experimentally, and I hear the faint noise of skin on skin. Okay.

Maybe I'm dead? I don't think you have dirt on your face when you're dead. I could have gone to Hell, of course, but I can think of scarier things than dirt that they could torment me with. Dirt I would not be impressed by in any which way.

I experimentally raise my hands from my sides. As expected, it hurts, but there appear to be no broken bones. I can feel a gun pressing into my side. I touch it, and it's loaded. I sit up, and my head brushes something which, when I reach up, feels like a ceiling made of earth.

I hear a shuffling noise, and the sound of someone breathing in the darkness. Then a light flares and I shield my eyes against the sudden yellow. When I look, it's at a small lamp which has been badly beaten up, distorting the rays. Then I notice at the person holding the lamp, crouched about a foot away.

At first, I think I'm looking at a girl not too much younger than me. Fair locks of hair reaching to just below the ears, light lilac eyes with cracked glasses, a soft mouth and an innocent, scared expression. Then I notice the flatness of the chest and how the jaw is slightly too angular to be female. Then I notice that he is not in German uniform.

And I want to cry, because such a pretty young thing should not be caught up in all this blood and mayhem, and I should not have to kill such a beauty. Damn the Führer. Damn him and all he stands for.

I reach out for my gun, and the youth's pupils dilate. Those lilac eyes will haunt me, I can tell. Then I pause, and my brain finally kicks into gear for the first time since I woke up. His eyes are lilac. No normal humans eyes are lilac. Violet sometimes, but never lilac. The only ones who can have such abnormalities tend to be...countries, like myself.

But I've seen the countries we're fighting against before. Britain, France, America, Russia...none of them look like this trembling young man.

Of course, if he is a country, all the more reason to shoot him. It's generally known that when a country rep is injured, the country itself, and the people, suffer. If I killed a country, the soldiers would be affected, and it would take out lots of enemies at once. I decide killing him would have benefits either way.

But I've waited too long. During this time we have both been frozen, staring, and now I'm out of the zone. I am once again a person. Incapable of murdering this man. But I want to be sure he's a country. It would make sense, as he hasn't any injuries from the bomb. I move my hand slowly towards me, and point to myself.

"Preußen..."

His eyes widen, and I can see recognition in them. He's heard of me, at least. He points to himself.

"...C-Canada."

That's it. Right there. Bam. I'm gone. Because that voice is honey and silk and moon rays and pearls, and it hits my heart. And the eyes, now I look at them, truly are the most stunning that I've ever seen.

I think I've just fallen in love.

Which is completely absurd of course, because I am an adult, I am in the middle of a war, and this man is, I now know, definitely my enemy. I remember hearing Canada among the list of Allies we would be fighting, but have never met him. And now, instead of killing him like I should, I want to chat him up. I feel like a silly schoolboy, and I want to look at my feet. I would too, but the lamplight isn't reaching that far and my legs disappear into darkness. So I keep staring.

He's embarrassed now, a fine blush spreading over pale skin. I move my hand, which had drifted to my lap, upwards. The Canadian jumps at the sudden movement, his hands flying up to protect himself.

" Ah! M-mon dieu, p-please don't hurt me, just please d-do-"

"Beruhige dich, ich werde dir nichts tun" (Calm down, I will not harm you) I say gently. He seems to get the message, and I keep my eyes focused on his, moving my hand slowly. I again point to myself.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt" I whisper in my most seductive voice. I could slap myself. I'm actually flirting with him. This is rididculous.

He flushes even more, and twitches awkwardly as he gestures to himself again, delicate pale fingers fluttering in front of his face.

"Matthew Williams."

I'm in love at first sight with the enemy. Touchstones* and homosexuality. I wish my brothers leader could see me now. Then again, I was always quite the rebel.

I try rolling the man's name around in my mouth, trying to pronounce it right.

"Hmm...Matthew."

He shifts, and I suddenly remember that I'm in a strange place and have no idea how I got there. I lean forward slowly so as not to startle him, and gently take the lamp from where he placed it in front of him. I hold it up, and see that we are in quite a tight space, a rough dip, with earth all around. There is a small gap near the top, and if I squint at it I can see the night sky on the other side.

"U-um, uh, I think the, uh, bomb threw U-us back into this pit, a-and then the ground collapsed, O-or something..." Matthew volunteers.

Beautiful though those words sound to me, I understand very little of what he said, and I look quizzical.

"Valparaiso Francis?"

I shake my head.

He licks his lips, then raises his arms, makes an explosion noise and gestures wildly. Then he mimes a flat thing falling with his hands. The ground, falling?

"Ah..." I say, understanding. He smiles, nodding. That smile. Heavens above.

"Also, was passionate, um die, h ..." (So, what happened to the, uh...) I mime shooting a gun, and then shrug my shoulders, splaying my hands.

"It stopped a long time ago. Uh...E-Es bended," (...It ended) he murmurs confidently. Of course, he must have picked up a little German whilst fighting. I can understand a few English words, but only if those speaking it talk slowly.

I look up at the ground above us, and move my feet so they're under me, I place my hands flat on the 'ceiling', and begin to push, ignoring the acute pain in my wrist. My heart is beating too fast around this man. The quicker we get out the better. But before I can really get going, I feel a hand clutching at my wrist. I give a yell of pain and fall back against the wall, Matthew falling on top of me.

When I look up from my arm, his face is inches away, our legs are tangled. He looks panicked and tries to shift, but I circle my other arm around him and hold him there. I hold my injured wrist close

to my chest.

"U-um, s-sorry, but, um, all t-the soldiers on odour side have orders to, um, shoot anything they see, a-after dark. S-so if you went put-up there, you'd b-be killed...S-sorry, I didn't know y-you were hurt..."

I understand 'soldiers', 'orders', 'shoot', 'dark' and 'killed' and 'sorry'. That's good enough for me. I release him, he sighs in relief and is about to crawl backwards off me, when he takes a proper look at my wrist.

"Mon Lieu! That looks terrible! I know you're a country, so your bones will be fine, but it'll get infected if you don't clean it. I've got a small medical kit...Hang on a second..."

I look at him, perplexed, as he scrambles back and grabs a very small rucksack which must have been strapped to his back. He pulls out a small white box, and opens it to reveal a few medical supplies. Understanding dawns, and I now know that I'm not the only one letting the side down and being nice to the enemy.

And yet...Matthew looks like he's the kind of person who is naturally kind and caring. I also noticed that as soon as he saw how badly I'd been injured, his stutter had gone, to be replaced with a very maternal tone. I watch him as he leans over my arm, cleaning it. His eyes are focused, and I love the way that he occasionally reaches up to push his glasses up his nose. His golden hair shines, despite the dust from the bomb, and I notice a small lock of it which sticks out slightly above the rest, and curls over his forehead. I watch it bob for a while and try not to hiss in pain as he bandages my wound, then realise he's speaking.

"There...Changeless" (...Completed)

"Dane."

"That's okay."He smiles a brilliant smile and starts to pack away the medical kit. Then he takes out a canteen of water, sips from it, and offers it to me. I have a drink, and hand it back. As I do, our fingers brush, and he looks into my eyes with a sudden intensity. He sits next to me, and stretches his legs out as far as they will go in the small space. The lamplight flickers off his face, and he gives a nervous laugh (which I may liken to the chiming of bells).

"I...I never thought I'd be helping the enemy." I understand, I think.

"Ich auch." (Me too)

We sit in silence for a while. Then I begin to notice something. Matthew is, almost imperceptibly, moving himself closer to me. Slowly inching his legs along so that they brush mine. Gently bumping our shoulders together. Coyly tilting his head nearer to me. He pauses, knowing I've noticed. Waiting to see what I'll do.

My heart is racing. I've never felt like this. Not once in the entire history of my country have I ever felt so attracted to anyone else. And he seems to feel, if not the same, then similar. There is a frisson

of emotion, running between us, which I'm not sure I can ignore for much longer.

I'm thinking of counting down, but I think I'll just do it.

I stretch, giving a horribly fake yawn which just about sums up my acting skills, and allow my arm to drift down around his waist. He breathes what seems to be a sigh of relief that I have reciprocated, then leans his head on my shoulder. I rest my chin on his hair, and feel the warmth of his body pressing against mine. His hand creeps up and rests against my chest. We, again, sit in silence.

"This war is stupid," he says, suddenly, violently.

'War'. 'Stupid'.

"Ja, Matthew." I agree, with feeling. He shifts slightly.

"Um...Gilbert...You can call me Mattie...If you like." He gestures to himself with his free hand, the hand that is not now rubbing circles on my chest.

"...Mattie." I breathe, turning so I'm staring deep into his gorgeous eyes. I feel like my heart is going to burst. I don't care that right now I'm stuck underground in the near-dark, injured and with the enemy, who also happens to be male. The only thing that matters right now is him.

"...Gilbert." And then our lips collide, and I feel like I've never kissed anyone before. His soft mouth, those delicate lips, move in synch with mine and make me never want to breathe again. My fingers are in his hair, my other hand on his back, and we press ourselves closer. As we kiss, he reaches up to remove his glasses and somehow puts them inside his rucksack, to allow me more access to his mouth.

Then we pull apart, and I move myself so I'm on top of him. I lean down and caress his pale face. I give him a questioning look. He smiles at me and nods, then leans over and extinguishes the lamp.

Life's too short in war to think about these things.

I let myself be swallowed up by it. By him. By Matthew.

* * *

><p>I'm woken up by the gun that had come with me digging into my back, and the daylight filtering in through the gap in the earth. I wriggle my hand underneath me, and carefully move it to the side. I can hear movement from Matthew, who is in my arms, the hiss of a match, and then the lamp flares and I'm looking at his beautiful face., his fragile fingers finishing buttoning up his shirt.<p>

It wasn't as I'd expected it to be. Not that I would ever tell anyone, but I'd never actually done it before, not with a man or a woman. I'd heard of it happening at the front though, when emotions were in tatters and men just wanted some comfort. I'd heard that it was rough though, desperate, and that not much attention was payed to who the other was.

It wasn't like that for me at all. It was gentle, loving and caring, and we each treated the other as something precious, something that could break easily (which is rather laughable, when you think about it, given how difficult it is to do damage to us).

For the moment, I'm happy. Matthew is snuggled up to me and I can forget all about the war, and the horror. I'm gripped by sudden emotion, an emotion so strong that I feel if I don't verbalise it, I will explode.

"Mattie...Ich liebe dich."

He understands.

"And I love you. You're...really awesome."

I look confused.

"Um...ehrfürchtige?" he says. Oh, that's what he means. Awesome. Me? Well, if he thinks so...

As he stares up at me, I'm overwhelmed by how cute he is, and my thoughts go back to my pet bird, currently left in the dubiously capable hands of Feliciano.

"Und Sie sind niedlich, wie ein Vogel." (And you're cute, like a bird). I take my arms from around him and mime flapping, whilst making little "Piyo! Piyo!" noises.

"I'm like a bird?"

I nod, smiling, and lean down to kiss him again.

"Es ist jemand da drunter!" (There's someone under there!)

Both Matthew and I start and look round wildly. Then it all happens at once.

Someone tries to move the earth above us, dislodging another plate of earth to our right. Matthew pushes me aside as it comes straight for me, then crashes between us. There's shouting, and suddenly, from where the earth has moved, roll three, large round things. They stop and knock against each other right at Matthew's feet.

And the bombs go off.

* * *

><p>Everything is a whirl of pain and fire. My head spins, and my body flies, then hits hard ground.<p>

For a moment all I hear is my breathing and the steady trickle of blood down my forehead as, once again, I am staring at the sky.

Then I see my little brother's face above me, shouting at me, asking if I'm alright. Ludwig is looking pale and panicky.

Matthew.

I need to know where Matthew is. I ask Ludwig, mumbling the words. He looks confused. Says that if there was anyone else there, they should be dead.

My mind wakes up.

"Matthew!" I'm on my feet, shouting his name, running towards the cloud of dust to my right. Those bombs were right in front of him. A country can easily survive one bomb, and might be a little shaken, but three? My heart is tight, as I call desperately for him, my voice turning to sobs as I stumble across the ruined ground.

My brother and a soldier catch my arms. I fight them, really crying now, wailing at them to let me go as I strain my eyes, searching.

I don't find him.

I drop to my knees, sobbing, and my brother kneels in front of me. He's looking afraid. He's never seen me like this.

"Bruder...es tut mir leid. Wer war mit dir...ist tot. Sie konnten nicht überlebt haben. Wir können nicht zulassen, dass du so zurück. Es gibt immer noch Bomben gibt..." (Brother...I'm sorry. Who was with you...is dead. They could not have survived. We can not allow you so back. There are still bombs...)

And I put my face in my hands and scream, because it's all so unfair.

***Dolchstoss – literally, 'stab in the back'.**


	2. Matthew Williams

Matthew Williams

"Yo, dude are you ready?!"

I flinch as my obnoxiously loud brother bounces towards me, fully kitted out in a suit and...

"You've done your tie up wrong." I murmur. As usual, he ignores me.

"This is so cool, I can't wait to tell everyone my ideas, man...Omg, come _on_, Mattie! We're gonna be laaaaate!" Alfred whines. I am about to tell him not to call me 'Mattie', when he notices what's in my hands. He stiffens, and his eyes grow cold.

"I'm gonna wait in the car." He goes.

I sigh, and place the photograph back on the table by my bed. It is of a handsome, tall man with pale white hair and ruby eyes. He wears a navy uniform and rebellious expression, and there is a little yellow bird on his shoulder. Gilbert Beilschmidt.

The man I loved.

I gently stroke my hand across my chest, where I know that under my neat shirt and blazer lies a horizontal scar form when those three bombs hit me. Apparently I was out for ages and it was only much later when Alfred and Arthur found me. I had, by then, lost a lot of blood, and nearly died.

Which really comes to the heart of the matter, because what happened after that is the reason why Alfred and I can never be relaxed around each other again. And the reason why the other countries often overlook me.

While I was recovering, I was kept in hospital and not told anything. Alfred came to visit, but would give me nothing more than a headache. My mind was numb and I had difficulty thinking and concentrating during that time. Still, they should have told me. They should have asked me.

Because when I had fully come to my senses I was told the Allies had won the war and the state of Prussia had been dissolved.

I wouldn't speak to Alfred.

I wouldn't even stay in the same room as him. He didn't understand, asked me why I wasn't happy. After all, we had won the war, I should be joyful that right had prevailed. I said that he should have told me before deciding to do something like dissolving a rep. He laughed.

"Come on, dude. Mattie, that Prussian was a _pain. _He was, like, one of the driving forces behind the Nazism! Anyway, it was just like squashing a fly. You should be glad we got rid of such a pesky jer-"

I punched him.

"You egotistical bastard! How dare you talk about him like that! You don't know a thing about him! I loved him! He was the only man I ever loved, and you...!"

I was overcome by emotion then and had to leave. For ages, I couldn't work. Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. I didn't care that I'd known that man for less than a day. He made me feel things that I'd never felt before, would never feel again. I would never, ever forget him.

News got round that I had loved the Prussian. Alfred started ignoring me, only talking to me when necessary. Arthur started to, then the other Allies. Then other countries. I didn't mind. I didn't want them. Ludwig always acknowledges me when we're alone, but when in company, he treated me like the rest. Coupled with the fact that I'm shy and quiet, they often actually completely forgot I was there.

It's gotten better recently, but the hurt will never go away. Countries have developed, there aren't as many wars, and Alfred has nearly completely forgotten my involvement with the long-gone state. Except when he sees me mourning.

The reason why Alfred is so excited today, however, is because the first ever World Meeting is to be

held. It's a meeting where we will try to sort out the problems of the world by talking sensibly, like we should have done years ago. Most country reps have learned English by now, so we can all converse easily enough. All the countries drew lots, and the first World Meeting is to be held in Vladimir's country, Romania.

I hear Alfred noisily honking the horn on the car, turn away from the photograph and go. The journey there is mostly silent until Alfred spots a McDonald and points it out, shouting excitedly and nearly crashing the car.

When we arrive, we are actually late. Although this is, might I point out, Alfred's fault, as he had to explain very carefully to the shouting man behind that we had stopped so he could sample some of that particular McDonald's fries. He bounces up the stairs of the building, and I quietly walk just behind him. He bounces into the meeting causing surprise and several damaged ear-drums, I slip in unnoticed and sit at the back.

* * *

><p>Three hours I have endured, and this is enough. Alfred, Arthur and Francis fight, Ludwig yells and Antonio now has a black eye which he received when he whispered something (that caused Lovino to go bright red) in the South Italian's ear. A frying pan has hit me in the head twice, and if I hear one more "Pastaaaaaaaaa!", then I shall scream. We haven't gotten anything done.<p>

I get up from my place, deciding to take a breather. I wouldn't be missing much, as currently Berwald is giving Francis evils for trying to molest Tino, and the familiar 'wife' issue has come up again, an argument which everyone is taking part in heartily.

I slide along the wall, and gently open the door. I stand in the corridor outside and take a deep breath, still hearing shouting from in the meeting room. I decide that taking a walk would be the best course of action right now.

I begin to make my way down the corridor, looking through the rectangular windows at the beauty of Bucharest.

I don't pay any attention when the lift behind me pings and the doors open.

I still have my back turned when quick footsteps cross from the lift to the meeting room,

I don't even really register the soft, squeaky "Piyo! Piyo!" noise until I'm halfway down the stairs.

Then I hear cries of shock from the meeting room, and stop. I hear, among the chaotic noise of chairs falling over, Arthur shouting.

"What? How the bloody hell are you here? What the- How? This is insane! Don't tell me you came back on ego alone, you bloody raving madman!"

"You are surprised? Of course I am here! Ha! I am Preußen! I am awesome!"

What.

Preußen.

My head whips around. It's English, but the accent...it's unmistakably his voice. Suddenly all I can think about is getting back in that room as fast as possible.

Him.

But it can't be him.

He was dissolved.

It can't be him!

Can it?

My head swims. I fall over while scrambling up the stairs, get a friction burn on my elbow. But I pay it little heed as I run down the corridor, back to the room. I slam open the door, my glasses askew and hair messy.

He's there. Standing tall, hands on hips, a triumphant expression on his face. My eyes meet his ruby ones, and for second, I see shock, joy. After that I cannot tell, for the ground comes towards me and I pass out.

* * *

><p>"Is the köyhä poika awake?" Tino's worried voice.<p>

I'm lying partially on he ground, partially on someone's lap. I'm being held in strong arms. It's him. I know it.

"...This is his fault." I hear my brother's voice somewhere above me to my left. It's low and soft and angry.

I keep my eyes shut.

"This is all your fault. Mattie's been messed up ever since he met you. I thought that he'd get over it, be like he was, but he's been moping for years! I finally thought that he was getting better, even though I found him with a photograph this morning. He's been looking at it less recently. And now! You show up. You should be dead! Mattie is too frail for this! Too weak."

I stiffen at that, my eyes fly open, I stare at Alfred and I open my mouth to yell, but a strong Prussian voice beats me to it.

"Matthew is not weak. He is caring, und kind. He is also ze most important thing in ze vorld to me, so you say vone more vord about him and I'll use my awesomeness to knock you out."

Tears are blurring my eyes, but I can still make out his face as I turn to him. We look at each other. There is quiet, Alfred fuming silently and Arthur with his hand on the American's arm. Even the bird on Gilbert's shoulder keeps shtum.

"Do you think, they'll, like, kiss?" Feliks whispers loudly, but Toris shushes him.

Tears are running freely down my cheeks now, and as Gilbert reaches up to wipe them away, I catch his hand and hold it there against my cheek. I whisper.

"Where were you? I...I thought you'd been dissolved. I-I thought you were gone f-forever."

He's crying too.

"I don't know vhy I'm here. I zought you vere dead, so I vent along vith being dissolved, feeling zat I had nothing left to live for-"

I give a small gasp, and cling tighter to him. He thought I was dead. Well, I suppose I should have been. It's a miracle I survived.

He smiles.

"But, my little bird, I came back. I don't know vhy, I don't know how. But I have an idea. You...Matthew Williams. You gave me something zat night. You gave a feeling zat...Vell...zat I vas amazing. Awesome, you know?"

I nod at the memory.

" Ehrfürchtige..." I smile.

"Ja. So...I guess Arthur's right. I came back because of my massive ego. But I zought zat I vould just be dissolved again if anyvone found me, so I stayed in hiding. However, now everyone feels like sitting around und having a nice chat about vorld affairs, I figure I'm a lot safer. ...You have no idea how happy I vas vhen I found out you vere alive. I vanted to see you straight away, but..."

"I understand. It's okay. Now you're here, now we're not stuck in the middle of some stupid war, we can finally be together."

We lean forwards. The last time we did this, three bombs nearly blew me up. Our lips are about to touch, after decades of being apaapa-

"No! I'm sorry, but no!"

We jump, and Gilbert glares at Alfred, who stands there, furious, his hands in fists at his sides. The bird on Gilbert's shoulder takes off and flies around the room, making alarmed "Piyo! Piyo!" noises.

Alfred's blue eyes flash.

"You can't be together. I won't allow it!" I struggle to my feet, Gilbert supporting me.

"You can't make decisions like that for me, Alfred. I love Gilbert. I want to be with him."

"But you've known each other for how long? Less than a day, from what I can gather. You can't be in love. I'm not gonna stand by and watch you make a mistake like this, Mattie. That man's a Communist nutcase!"

Feeling glad that Ivan is currently somewhere else in the building trying to hide from Natalya, I am about to defend Gilbert when Francis speaks.

"Ah...Mon petit Matthieu is all grown up." I am surprised. There are actual tears in his eyes. "I wish you well, and your lover too."

Alfred makes to cut in, but Francis calmly holds up a hand.

"Ah, non non non, mon ami, you zink zat zey are not suited to each other, but you forget zat your own relationship raised some questions before now also, eh?"

Alfred looks at Arthur, who still has his hand on his arm. The Englishman shrugs.

"You've got to admit, love...we do seem rather incompatible, yet we're happy together, right?"

"...yeah."

Alfred looks torn.

"...Fine. Do what you want. But." he looks at Gilbert, hard. "If you hurt Mattie I will kill you, got it?

"Ja."

"...Okay then."

More silence, and then Miss Elizaveta awkwardly steps forward. She gives Gilbert a light punch on the arm.

"Velcome back, you big idiot. Zis does not mean zat you get to steal my alcohol again, got it?"

He smiles at her, and Ludwig clears his throat.

"Vell, Gilbert...It's been...a while."

"Don't play-act bruder, you know you're happy to see me. You've missed me, ja?"

Ludwig mutters something under his breath, but gives a small smile nevertheless. Lily, Vash's little sister, gives a small squeal of delight as the little bird decides to sit on her shoulder.

"Oh, Vash look! How cute! Mr Beilschmidt, vot is his name?"

"Gilbird."

The country reps laugh and relax, Gilbert looks hurt.

"No, seriously, zat is his name! It is an awesome name!"

And chatter begins again. They begin to talk amongst themselves, and the attention goes to the little bird, Gilbird, as Flying Mint Bunny sniffs at it.

I look at Gilbert, then lean up on my tiptoes and touch my lips gently to his. I slip our hands together, and smile at his handsome face.

"Want to go for a walk?"

"Awesome."

" Ehrfürchtige."

**Review?**


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